Going viral

Chris, the baby boy born on the Philadelphia train on Christmas Day, had his entry into the world well documented and his unusual birth was reported by news organizations around the world. What if the same had been true two thousand years ago?

We would have to accept that baby Jesus was darker skinned than artists have since depicted. As the story went viral, we would really see him as the babe in the manger, squalling face and all. His human-ness would confront us and we would realize that diaper rash, first steps, the terrible twos, and learning the “ABC’s” were ahead of him.

Parts of the well-known story would be filled in. Did that innkeeper call for the local midwife? Did Joseph remain with Mary the whole time and coach her when to pant and when to push? We would all see the terror and joy in the teen parents’ faces, Mary’s exhaustion, Joseph’s frustration at the shoddy surroundings, and their fear at being so far from home just because they were doing what the law required. They both knew that it takes a village to raise a child, and here they were, all alone, with their firstborn.

Perhaps viewers would text and donate to help the family get better accommodations. Shortly, however, they would have some expensive presents to post on EBay to cover the costs of their flight to Egypt, where they would be immigrants, and their return to set up shop and a new household in Nazareth. A shepherd would post a video of the angels on You Tube and we all could see and hear the heavenly host.

OK, you get the idea which I’m sure is not original. But where this musing ultimately led me was to the discovery that I want to have a conversation with those who prayerfully considered what to keep in and what to leave out of what we know as the Bible. By not including material on nearly three decades of Jesus’ life – the Facebook and social media equivalent pieces of the day to day of his childhood, adolescence and through his twenties and which surely existed – we are left to struggle with the concept of God/Human, and, in that struggle, I think the ‘human’ gets the short shrift. In an era when our heroes often dominate headlines because of their human failings, it would be good to have more of a record of the life of the person, our brother, born to be the ultimate hero.

Marilyn

My nose knows holidays

No matter where you are from or what holidays you celebrate, we all learn to associate certain smells with particular festivities. As you read about my fragrance memories, I invite you to recollect what your own nose knows.

Holidays mean a time of year. Growing up Christian in Buffalo, NY, Christmastime meant cold and snow, and unless, you’re around it and are sensitive to such things, you may not realize that there is an odor to winter’s cold. It is a crispness, which, I’m sure has degrees that hunters, farmers, and gatherers identify and have tracked for millennia.

Holidays mean symbols. My dad and I would go tree shopping and bring home a fragrant blue spruce that rested in a bucket of water on the back porch for several days before it was moved into the living room to be decorated. The scent of pine and the outdoors lingered on the porch and adorned the whole house.

Holidays mean special foods. One day in mid-December I would come home from school and, with the scent of anise in the air, know that cookie baking and decorating was the happy activity for the rest of the afternoon. Christmas Eve meant oyster stew before the 11pm church service where candles burned bright. Strong coffee in the percolator to accompany the trays of sweet treats welcomed guests at the house after the celebration. There was always a tangerine in the toe of my stocking and Christmas breakfast included a yeast-based coffeecake that my mother called kugel and grapefruit with a side of a candy cane, for we would sip the citrusy juice through the peppermint stick. Dinner was lamb with all the fixings for a large feast that ended with mincemeat pie which had smelled wonderful while baking the day before. For those who wanted an after dinner drink, crème de menthe was served in small glasses that I still have.

Holidays means relatives. Uncle Bob and Aunt Dorothy spent Christmas Eve and Day with us. He wore Old Spice on special occasions and she liked lavender. My aunt Alice who lived in England would often send something she had knitted and which retained a woolen-y smell even after years of washing.

Holidays mean fun activities. The church youth group would go tobogganing and there would be the smell of wet clothes when we gathered for hot chocolate in the lodge and there would be more hot chocolate after an evening of caroling. When we were sung out and reached our final destination, there would be a fireplace for warming up and roasting marshmallows.

Holidays mean feelings. As I discovered a broader world and was exposed to a variety of sacred and secular holidays, I also came to understand that families have their own traditions and that not everyone’s special days are happy. The smell of liquor often means that over the course of the party some relative gets nasty. In many houses there are no delicious special smells because parents struggle to put basic necessities on the table. Even those with plenty can get stressed with all of the expected specialness and the air around them smells tense and tight. I have also learned that there is a smell to lonely, which is what the holidays can trigger for so many. This is a smell that we have to also sense with our eyes, our ears, and our hearts.

As I enjoy the scents of the season this year, both of my own making and what comes my way, I want to be intentional about seeking out the smell of loneliness in myself and in others. I will hope to do something that provides an alternative fragrance, one that might, at least momentarily, make this holiday time something that can be enjoyed and treasured.

May all the warm scents that mean good things to you be yours through end of this year and into the next.

Marilyn

Wrapping paper and safety pins

For the last decade of his life my brother and I had ongoing fun conversations about things we could invent that would make us rich. Our goal was to create something simple and so obvious that people thought they needed it (wrapping paper) or really did need (safety pins). I don’t remember many ideas that we humorously tossed around, but we would call one another and say things like, “Ear warmers for pet bunnies!”

This came to mind as I was wrapping presents to send to my grand-nieces, granddaughters Ron never knew. In order to begin that project I had to find the plastic bin that houses all the wrapping paper and ribbons. You’ve got a similar something yourself. Well, from my recent move I knew that it was on the top shelf in the closet in the den. I’d forgotten that there were lots of other things piled on top of it, so there was some maneuvering required to get to the 2 different rolls of paper leftover from last year. If Ron was around I would call and say, “A garment bag for wrapping paper.” I’ll bet if I checked out the Container Store’s website they already have that.

Once wrapped, the presents needed to go in a box to send. If Ron was around I would call and say, “Precut packing tape of different sizes.” Someone probably has those in production somewhere.

In the 20 years he has been gone we have not reduced our usage of wrapping paper. One source says that we use two million tons during the holiday season. That’s 30 million trees for a product that is difficult to recycle and that many don’t even try to. If Ron was around I would call and say, “Easily recyclable wrapping paper!”

Ron and I didn’t spend that many Christmases together because of the age difference and locations so it was not holiday memories that made me nostalgic while wrapping the presents but the memory of our game of inventions. Remembering that made me smile. If Ron was around I would call and ask him what he liked on the most recent Shark Tank. He would have loved that show. Whatever makes you nostalgic this season, may it also end up making you smile.

Marilyn

Old fashioned words

Most of the popular songs of this holiday season have been around for decades. Each generation dons their gay apparel while learning to fa la la or rum pa pum pum. From Silent Night to Jingle Bells, from carolers at the door to humming along with the radio, we find comfort in the familiar and in annual traditions where such songs are enjoyed. But how often do we really pay attention to the words? Well, if we did we would see that carols are full of words that we no longer use in every day conversations. Words like joy and rejoice, hark and herald, glory and gloria. In fact, my computer automatically capitalized that last word, making it a name instead of a noun.  

On the other hand, some of the words, like calm and bright, are common and used in different contexts , like “calm down!” or “what a bright child!” that their meaning for the season needs to be clarified. And who ever examined or understood auld lang syne? Like Sally told Harry, “maybe we’re meant to remember that we forgot. Anyway, it’s about old friends.” Her practicality hastes us to the feelings that accompany different stanzas and tunes. Mommy kissing Santa may make us smile and sleep in heavenly peace make us wistful or teary.

With all that as a foundation, my tiding was going to be that we be intentional about the words we are singing or enjoying, try to be conscious of their meanings or images. But then I realized that was an awfully big order and I know that I would end up losing much of my enjoyment of the tunes if I concentrated solely on the words.

So I’m going to borrow an idea that a blogger friend posted last January. She challenged her readers to pick a word for the year and shared that hers was joy. A pretty good one for December. I’m going to suggest you take your favorite carol or song and select a word or phrase that becomes your theme through the holidays. I think I’m going with ‘wonder,’ both a verb and a noun and will anticipate feeling awe and admiration for some miraculous and remarkable happening – I will wonder as I wander, every day.

Let me know what word or phrase you pick and may such a simple activity of paying attention make these days merrier than we’ve had in long time.

Peace,

Marilyn

Hotel memories

A recent getaway had me reminiscing about accommodations. My first stay in a hotel was when I was in 6^th grade. We drove from Buffalo to New York City on our way to Long Island to visit family. About the vacation I remember the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty, the automat and a bus tour of the City that went through Chinatown, and my cousin’s house with 2 indoor staircases to the second floor. What I remember about the hotel was the noise outside and the shower. The only other shower I’d seen was at summer camp for back then homes had only bathtubs.

Since then, because of music, work, and wanderlust, I’ve stayed in monasteries, bed & breakfasts, people’s homes, lavish individual hotels, rural lodges, and major high- and low-end chains in nine countries around the world. I am grateful for each business trip and vacation and consider my life blessed to have had such opportunities.

My first lengthy stay was at the Madison Hotel in Madison, New Jersey when AT&T tapped me to work on a yearlong taskforce to plan for and monitor the breakup of the Bell System. We could go home every other weekend, and on my second trip home I packed up some of my sheet music. After that I was often found playing the piano in the hotel lobby. The taskforce created two pilots of what the post-monopoly service center would be like, one in St. Paul and the other in Omaha. From my New Jersey home away from home I also established a base at the Thunderbird Inn in Omaha and was at the St. Paul Hotel when Torvill and Dean earned their perfect 10s skating to Ravel’s Bolero.

Just a couple of years later I was one of four consultants who for months drove from Chicago to Ft. Wayne, Indiana on Sunday night and returned on Friday afternoon after a week of facilitating team building at the new General Motors plant. We stayed at the Marriott, where the staff let me store empty milk gallon jugs in a janitor’s closet so I would have them to do water aerobics in the swimming pool. Later that decade, while working on a project for the Alaska pipeline, I was at a hotel in Anchorage where the rooms included a small kitchenette. For other work assignments I’ve spent a week at hotels in Toronto, Galveston, Calgary, Denver, Istanbul, Tulsa, Dublin, and Howey-in-the-Hills. Such assignments accumulated points that resulted in free nights in Oahu, Seattle, and Auckland.

As a female traveling alone, I have gently reminded many front desk clerks not to announce a room number but to write it on the card they were giving me. I learned to request a room above the ground floor and that it is ok to ask for a room change if something is not satisfactory, particularly before most rooms were converted to non-smoking. Yes, I once got burned with scalding water and in Ireland had to call to have the water turned on. I have been irritated with a gazillion pillows on the bed and disappointed with mediocre room service and non-responsive porters. I have complained about noisy neighbors next door, kids running unsupervised in the hallway, or the lack of adequate heat or air conditioning.

I came to appreciate when something novel, like mints on the pillow or built in blow dryers became the norm. I found that most staff are helpful and want to make your stay in their establishment memorable only in a good way. But overall I am grateful for the scores of hotel rooms I cannot recall. For those with a comfortable bed, adequate water pressure with enough hot water, and whose construction ensured quiet. And, having been a maid at a Howard Johnson’s for two summers during college, for those that met expectations of cleanliness.

If you travel this holiday season perhaps your own hotel memories will surface. May they make you smile.

Marilyn

Friday night fish fry

When I was growing up the choices for eating out were limited.  There were family owned diners and the food counter at Woolworth’s. There were sub shops like John and Mary’s or pizza joints like Jacobi’s for after school or post football games, and if the family wanted exotic food, you could find Chinese. Few fancy restaurants and tearooms spotted the landscape.

Going out to eat was a big deal. This was the era when one dressed up to go shopping, so a lunch or dinner at a restaurant required one’s Sunday best. Except on Friday nights when families went to bars and children were welcome. All for a fish fry. In Buffalo, this meant battered haddock, French fries, and coleslaw. My parents had beer and I could order a Shirley Temple.

Over the years, as meatless Fridays were no longer the norm and a plethora of restaurant chains offering burgers, tacos, chicken, pasta, and salads appeared, eating out became more common. Most bars stopped the traditional fish fry so VFWs adopted Friday nights as a way to make money while providing people with a reasonable dinner and a chance to gather. Broiled became an option for the fish.

This came to mind because last week I was talking to a small business owner who has a seafood restaurant in Chicago and he mentioned they offer a Friday night fish fry. When I asked what fish he uses he said haddock. Then, on Friday night some friends and I ended up at a 60+ year-old restaurant with that neighborhood feel and lots of comfort food on the menu. Two of us had the ‘all you can eat’ fish fry. Turns out they use cod, and while it wasn’t the best plate of food I’ve ever had, included in each bite were the memories of all the previous Friday nights with family and other friends, and I savored every morsel.

Hope something delicious tickles your taste buds, be it pierogis or fried rice or spaghetti and that it provides a sweet nostalgia as we enter the holiday season.

Marilyn

PS: If you are in the Chicagoland area, check out New England Seafood Company (www.neseafoodcompany.com) not just for haddock but great fish every day!

More than five senses

Perhaps you are like me and didn’t get the memo about the time and place they were handing out the sense of direction gene so consequently I have none. From the time as a new driver when I got lost on my way to a babysitting job to last month coming home from Evanston, I take wrong turns and usually have no idea whether I should go left or right – and please, do not tell me north, south, east or west!

Do you go through times when it seems like your sense of humor has deserted you? As I sit here trying to recall the last time I laughed until I cried, one instance popped into my head, reminding me of a sense of connection with others.

Lately I’ve been missing a sense of accomplishment. While yes, in my new home everything has found a place and I gave myself a high five when I flattened and recycled the last box, there are still so many things on my to-do list, and at work it seems that nothing of high priority actually gets finished.  However, at both home and the office I do have a sense of place.

On some days I see so many indications in society that we’ve lost all sense of propriety, but I ask myself if that is all bad. I do worry however, about the lack of a sense of responsibility and accountability that reflects a diminished sense of right and wrong. Just reading the headlines backs me up on this.

As my generation begins to face trifocals and hearing aids and other issues with our five physical senses, we also share a sense of loss when each elder dies and now have deeper holes in our lives as we lose peers.

I'm sure you know other senses that should be mentioned and hope you'll share as I close with one that concerns me greatly. We have lost touch with our sense of wonder, collectively and individually. A colleague’s two and a half year old ran down the alley last Thursday and with glee yelled, “It’s snowing!” as she twirled with arms outstretched and face looking up at the sky. This week, let’s all concentrate on reconnecting with that sense of awe we had when we were that young and that takes us out of ourselves and into the sweet wonders of the world that is always around us.

Marilyn

I don't know about you, but...

…my mailboxes – electronic and snail mail, both inbox and outbox – are not as full as they used to be and I’m not sure what that means.

…I find most of the choices for entertainment, escape, and education on the growing number of network channels more disturbing than intriguing.

…if I start falling asleep in the chair, somehow, by the time I get to bed I am wide awake.

…I am scared that the parts of myself I do not like will become more dominant as I age and no one will admonish me for them.

…as much as I believe in our democracy, something is broken and I don’t know what it is going to take to fix it because we cannot legislate common sense, kindness, or grace.

…despite decades of progress there are more we/they divisions in our country than when we were marching for rights decades ago.

…a turtleneck feels different in October than in March.

…there is always one place in my house or office that, no matter how hard I try, is always cluttered.

…I enjoy seeing license plates from other places and if someone else is around, I point them out.

…it’s good to be back!

Marilyn

 

 

 

 

 

When the words don't come

Whether it’s what to write on a condolence card or a five letter word for ‘fracas’ to complete a crossword puzzle, we all occasionally struggle to find the right word. Stressful times impede the mental search for that illusive phrase that would be a great response.  Aging contributes to that ‘now what was his name? I can picture his face…’ memory game.  When we realize we are playing that game more and more, we worry about what that might mean.

Our commercial, fast paced, and electronic society shorthand us out of the connections made through thoughtful wording. Often my illegible handwritten missives begin with ‘Just a note to say…’ which automatically define them as brief. A reply feature makes it easy in our emails and texts to share LOL and J or L feelings. We peruse the greeting card aisle for just the right picture on the outside and tone on the inside, and often pay a little more to not have to write anything except our name because the card says it better than we could. We let others ‘speak’ for us and I fear we are losing the subtleties of well-crafted sentences.

I’m told that my mother’s father was a great letter writer and his notes often included poems appropriate to the recipient. I have only a few examples. But who’s got the time these days when it is much easier to post something on Facebook, a blog, or a tweet? Well, if the thoughts don’t flow, or a particular sentence doesn’t come together, or the right words don’t come, it doesn’t matter what the method of communication.

It amazes me that each week something strikes me as an idea for a musing; it’s a rare week when the concept just isn’t there. More common is the struggle to put one sensible word after another and to find the proper spin that reflects what I want to say. But as long as ideas come along I’ll keep encouraging my brain to strain for that right word, except for the next month or so. Apologies to those who have indicated they look forward to the Monday musing notice in their inbox, but I’m taking a short break. I will resume musing in October and look forward to hearing from you in the interim. And, should you face an instance where the right word is on the tip of your tongue, remember the words of Mark Twain who said, “The right word may be effective, but no word was ever as effective as a rightly timed pause.”

Marilyn

Taking a Break

Most of us are taking a break from our labors, or at least from our routines. Today is a holiday, a word derived from the Old English word hāligdæg, meaning holy day.

Throughout the world there are holy days, days that are set aside for religious purposes. Whether it be a solstice, Ramadan, Yom Kippur, or Easter, there are centuries of traditions that are honored. Countries often formalize a holy day, such as Christmas, by making them also a legal holiday. Most countries have other mandated holidays, such as today in the U.S., that have been incorporated into their culture for a variety of reasons, usually politically motivated.

In our country we have holidays while in others, people go on one. Whatever the language, today we stop our hunting and gathering to rest. To celebrate the dignity of all work and give thanks for the opportunity to provide for ourselves and our family. To thank those who must labor today and while we hope the firefighters, police, and emergency medical staff will not be needed, we fear they will be. We think of those who are without meaningful work or any income-generating work at all, and those who are under- or over-employed.

Whatever phase of life you are in now, muse on Pearl Buck’s words, “to find joy in work is to discover the fountain of youth.” And, as you go about your holiday, take a moment throughout the day to offer a thank you for what you are enjoying. To the inventor of that grill. To the farmer. To those who made the meal. Think of a funny story related to your work and share it around the table. Lift a glass and give thanks for those in your life who labor for you and to those who paid you for your labor. Work, whether paid or volunteer, helps make and define a community, so, finally, toast yourself for all of the labor you have done on behalf of others and, recognize that you do deserve a day of rest. Tomorrow’s work will come soon enough.

Marilyn

Ice Cream Socials

Creating ‘just because’ moments around the office is part of my job, so last week we had a surprise ice cream social. Colleagues gathered for about 20 minutes and enjoyed the sundae they had made, a popsicle, or a cone. I kept the ice cream choices fairly basic – vanilla, chocolate, neopolitan, and cookie dough – and the toppings traditional.

That fun afternoon break reminded me of past ice cream moments. When I was a kid, a friend and I could walk to the corner store where Skippy cups (a small cardboard bowl of ice cream with a wooden spoon affixed to the bottom) and popsicles (2 sticks) were 5¢. Grape and root beer were my favorites. Fudgesicles (chocolate) and dreamsicles (an orange sherbet and vanilla ice cream mixture) were 8¢.

When my mother and I would get dressed up to go shopping in downtown Buffalo we would stop at the W.T. Grant’s counter for a BLT and an ice cream soda. By junior high school there was a group of us that would visit walk from house to house after Christmas to look at each other’s presents and end up at Howard Johnson for marshmallow sundaes (chocolate ice cream with marshmallow sauce). My parents once hosted an ice cream social for the church’s youth group and 25 teens filled the house and yard before we played croquet.

I remember when ice milk was introduced, a product with not as many calories as the real thing. It was ok. Then more exotic flavors started appearing and one of my family’s favorite was butter brickle, rich ice cream with small chunks of chewy brittle. Now we’ve got exotic flavors and a TV show where people compete for prizes by making ice cream with strange ingredients. As talented as my mother was in the kitchen, homemade ice cream was something she never tried.

Several years ago on a vacation in Cancun, we met a family from Western New York. Somehow the conversation got around to ice cream and I mentioned that we used to go to the small town of Alden to a shop that had the best and most unusual flavors of ice cream. It was a real treat – the Sunday afternoon drive kind of treat – when we would head that way for black raspberry or cantaloupe. They told me it was still there and still the best.

In these dog days of summer somehow musing about ice cream seems appropriate but, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a Skinny Cow in the freezer calling my name so it’s time to stop writing. Wish you could join me to share your ice cream memories as we see who can make theirs last the longest!

Marilyn

Secrets

“Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets.”  Paul Tournier, Swiss author

We were reminded this week that, even in this modern communication age of exposure, everyone has secrets. That those who share some may harbor others.  What we need to be reminded of is that everyone – even those who live part of their life in the public eye – has a right to keep them.

As a people, we are challenged to find and honor the balance between what needs to be known and what can and should remain private unless the people involved choose to share. Investigative reporters have their role, and what they uncover can provide critical information to voters, shareholders, administrators, and neighbors. The recent 40^th anniversary of Watergate highlighted how that event ushered in a new age of scrutiny for politicians. Gone were the days of insiders looking the other way, of certain ‘secrets’ being common knowledge on the Beltway but not in Peoria, to the extent that I’m amazed anyone wants to go into public service and give up any sense of privacy.

Some secrets, when shared, have helped me understand a situation or a person better. I came to respect and so appreciate the trust exhibited by the sharer and hope that my reaction was appropriate, for I’ve known the sense of relief when we do let our guard down and are still embraced in friendship and love.

Early on we learn that secrets are one of the in/out aspects of group dynamics. We want to be included, to not be the last to know. Later we learn that secrets come with a burden. Many I wish I did not know. I believe some relationships have faded because TMI (too much information) was shared and the other felt too vulnerable.

Saturday night I watched the first episode of the British show Sherlock. The writer(s) of the script made the main character’s observations and conclusions so logical and intriguing but also made me realize how many of what we think are secrets are actually quite visible if someone really looks. When I pass you on the street I cannot tell if you’ve just come from a tryst or your therapy session. I don’t know if you’ve ever climbed Mt. Everest or been the victim of an assault, if you play croquet or are a whiz in the kitchen, if you are diabetic or hit your spouse.  But unlike Sherlock who puts clues and facts together, I simply make assumptions, and human nature being what it is, I also judge.

That being said, everything I want to know about Robin Williams has been shared in moving tributes this week, tributes that gave examples how his bigger than life persona touched lives in very personal ways around the globe. I want all he wanted to remain private to do so and to continue to celebrate what he chose to share. That includes his talent, his heart, parts of his soul, and yes, even some secrets.

Marilyn

L'chaim

To life. Wishing you good health and well-being.

This word became part of pop culture in the 1960s because of the song from Fiddler on the Roof. The tune and the words were one of my last thoughts Saturday night after seeing the Light Opera Work’s delightful production. Sunday morning I started musing about toasts.  We clink glasses on New Year’s Eve and listen as the best man honors the bride and groom. We say ‘slainte’ or ‘cheers’ at other celebrations to share more than just the drink, so, I thought, why not a virtual toast on a Monday morning with our coffee or tea? Here’s to my friend(s) who:

• Celebrate their 50^th anniversary this week – may the best of your yesterdays be the worst of your tomorrows.
• Accepted a new job – you go, girl!
• Struggle with aging – do not resist growing old, many are denied the privilege.
• Face a major decision – sleep on it, then go with your gut and ignore everything else.
• Grieve – to live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.
• Are disappointed or need encouragement – may an unexpected window open soon.
• Feel alone or lonely – become a rainbow in someone else’s cloud.
• If nothing above speaks to you then lift your mug in a salute that will set your day off with a smile. 

Finally, according to Wikipedia, the members of the British Royal Navy toast something very specific each day at their Noon meal. Their Monday toast is for ships at sea, quite fitting for my family since my brother served in the Navy. To all those deployed around the world – fair winds and following seas, and, for today, l’chaim!

Marilyn

Is your refrigerator running?

Perhaps you remember the crank phone calls that kids made, sometimes at random and sometimes to targeted friends or enemies.  When the person answered, the caller might ask, “Is your refrigerator running?” When the response was, “yes” the giggling kids would say, “then you’d better go run after it!” and hang up.

Those calls actually had an impish innocence about them, but, as the communications industry aged, so did we users and so did the pranks. Heavy breathing, middle of the night annoyance calls became concerns. Forty years ago someone played the ‘guess who this is’ game and I was naïve enough to fall for it. He sounded like a friend from college. We had maybe a 10 minute conversation before the light dawned on me. Phone companies developed ways to trace calls in much more complicated means than what’s available today. The introduction of answering machines and caller ID helped eliminate the petty callers.

Now we’ve got robocalls and sophisticated scam ‘artists’ and stalkers. A friend was the recipient of the “we’ve-just-discovered-you-owe-some-back-taxes-and-we-need-to-quickly-clear-this-up-so-give-me-your-credit-card” call. While I was driving home the other day my cellphone rang, so I pressed the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel and said ‘hello.’ A man said he was calling from Microsoft because of all the error messages they were receiving from my computer. Some of us are not so trusting anymore and after a couple of unsatisfactory answers to my questions, I hung up.

In both of those cases – back taxes and we need to fix your computer – the topics are compelling and the presentation could sound feasible. Some people will fall for it and that makes me angry and sad. In both cases the callers had an accent. That perpetuates stereotypes and makes me even madder and sadder.

The fact that people deliberately figure out ways to take advantage of a person’s fears and trust is a reminder that there is evil in the world and that it comes in many forms. These callers are no different from bullies, elected officials who refuse to work for the common good, or rebels who shoot down airplanes and abduct children. These perpetrators’ actions rise from similar motivators, be it greed, anger, hatred, fear, revenge, or insecurity.

Things were much simpler in the rotary dial days when hoaxes were calls like, “Are the walls there?”

“No, I’m sorry you must have the wrong number. There are no ‘Walls’ here.”

“Then what’s holding up your roof?!”

I hope the beginning and joke above made you smile and that in between you were reminded of the need to balance faith with caution. But I also hope that like me, you believe the good will overcome the evil.

Marilyn

If Only

It all started last weekend during an early morning walk out at the Morton Arboretum. I had just hit a nice stride when a chipmunk emerged from the bushes. Instead of behaving as chipmunks usually do and scurrying across the path, it sat on the sidewalk. I stopped to watch it as it watched me. Apparently it was convinced it was safe and returned to the underbrush. I resumed my walk.

My next encounter was with a squirrel sitting on the back of a wooden bench thoroughly enjoying a snack. It looked like a buckeye that it revolved in its front paws as it gnawed away, dropping crumbs with each nibble. I edged forward, but it took no notice of me so I got within five feet and observed for several minutes as he enjoyed his breakfast. Finally a young couple came along and saw me smiling, standing and watching. While they, too, stopped, I guess an audience of three was too intimidating and our friend leapt off the bench and ran about ten feet away. We humans commented on the nature of squirrels and continued down the sidewalk.

On a more deserted path I heard a cardinal and stopped to see if I could find it in all the lush foliage. He flew to a low branch and continued his song, sitting for a long time in plain and fairly close view on a leafy branch with blue sky in the background.

In each of those wonderful instances I thought, if only I had my camera.

It got me thinking about how many times in a week ‘if only’ might cross my mind and I decided to keep track. See if you can identify with any of the following. If only I had:

• Known the roads were being repaved
• Brought my library books with me
• Closed the window when the wind picked up
• Not wasted the last hour watching that stupid program
• Worn the other outfit

This list of daily ‘if onlys’ covers mildly frustrating or maybe embarrassing situations. There are other ‘if onlys’ in our lives. There are fantasy ones (if only I were tall and willowy/ had bought Microsoft stock), but regret ‘if onlys’ seem to be the biggest for me (we had ended that relationship on a different note, I had/hadn’t said…). I think all of these are universals and would be common ground if we ever got around to talking about such things. Others that we all have include if only: everyone thought more like me, cars and computers just worked like they are supposed to, and someone had a real answer to the problem areas around the world.

For most of us, this is where the ‘if onlys’ end. Unfortunately, there are those whose list includes: I had a bigger bomb, gun, or more power. These also may be people who go out and find ways to get such ‘if onlys.’ Then, once it is in their possession, they do something horrific with it.

You see it is not such a long leap from my wish for a camera last weekend to the revenge we read in the headlines. If only we had more understanding and an answer to that.

Marilyn

Will You Accept the Charges?

“We have a collect call from Marilyn. Will you accept the charges?”  So began a common routine used when phone booths were prevalent. Every Sunday night young women gathered in our wing of the dorm because that’s where the payphone was. The most popular method of calling home was “Operator, I’d like to place a collect call.” Parents declined the charges, hung up, and dialed the number in the phone booth direct and then both parties settled in for a long, much cheaper chat.  Some called every week while others were on a more limited budget. Calls were always after 7pm when the rates were lower.

When I was on the speech circuit for Illinois Bell in the 1970s, I talked about AT&T’s goal to have a phone in every home in the U.S and that we were almost there. I recently heard that 41% of the population no longer has a landline.  Bell Labs worked hard to introduce a PicturePhone. It was very expensive and never caught on for either home or office use, but now skype is free and common. Phone numbers started with words like Hudson, Parkside, Humboldt. I read that it is possible babies will be assigned a phone number that will last their lifetime.

It was the Microsoft announcement of up to 18,000 layoffs that got me thinking about the changes in our communications norms and the status of major corporations. Before answering machines there were unanswered telephones. In the days of rotary dial, the closest thing to a conference call was a party line and call waiting was someone standing by to use the phone next. Now we expect an immediate response to a text or email.  While science itself and science fiction predicted some of the technology advances we have experienced, I truly wonder about what comes next and what we won’t be able to live without 10 years from now and what industry leaders we will be watching.

Marilyn

See ya' later, alligator

My parents were from the twenty-three skidoo generation, a phrase that according to Wikipedia, became the first national slang fad. Since WWI there have been hundreds, if not thousands, of ways we’ve had to express ourselves while reflecting the trends of the day. The shelf life of some phrases is short (Far Out!) while others are here to stay (Cool It!). It is not surprising that most come through media (Catch you on the Flip Side) and entertainment (May the Force be with you) rather than something grassroots (What a blast!). Each can represent a time and become a label (baby boomers), a fad (disco), or a product (Mmm, Mmm, Good). Politics plays a role (Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?) and whole eras get defined (Make love, not war). Some get put to music (Groovy) or a piece of music defines it (Bad).

It isn’t surprising to learn that religion contributes. “Jeez Louise!” comes out of my mouth easily. The other day I wondered for the first time how that phrase originated and learned that it is slang for Jesus’ name with a little rhyme thrown in. When we were young saying, “h-e-double hockey sticks” made us laugh and feel as though we were getting away with a cuss word. Today four letter words once meant to shock are common – still not necessarily accepted or acceptable, but common. Blimey, I got sidetracked there for a minute, but, in for a penny, ‘damn’ probably entered everyday language after Gone with the Wind. Think about the various slang associated with race, gender, and sexual orientation and you’ll realize some of the significant evolutions in your lifetime.

There is a lot of slang today that I’ve never heard and wouldn’t understand, but we’ve come a long way since twenty-three skidoo gave people a popular way to indicate they were leaving quickly or gettin’ out while the getting’s good. Now popular phrases get abbreviated (LOL) for quick and easy communication. What phrases do you fondly remember or enjoy using? Me? I’m from a laid back generation and it takes time to get around to ‘after while, crocodile!’

Marilyn

Things We Do Without Thinking

We save energy every day doing many things by rote.  From flushing the toilet to locking the door, much of our life is routine that we can do on autopilot. If I asked you what foot you put forward to go down the stairs, would you be able to answer definitively? Probably not, but you do it confidently without a second thought. A daily or familiar commute becomes so habitual that we can arrive at our destination not fully aware of how we got there. There are so many demands on our time and attention that we are thankful for the thoughtless tasks that provide a comforting routine.

Yesterday’s inspirational reading included the passage: “I can will it, but I can’t do it. I decide to do good, but I don’t really do it. I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don’t result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time.”

I could identify with that, for some of the bad that I do is purely from habit and habits, despite desire, are very hard to change.  Some of those habits are things I do by rote. I think that we, as a people, also identify with those words.  We have allowed some disturbing norms to creep into our society, norms that have enabled us to do things such as walk past a homeless person as though they are invisible. These are not necessarily the actions we might truly want, but something has gone wrong deep within our society and it is getting the better of us.

The complex issues of economic and social equity seem to live in a no man’s land in between the two political parties. Unfortunately there is not one magic cure for all of the ills in the headlines. I don’t believe stopping busses is the answer but I don’t know what is. I do know that when something happens to challenge common chores in our own lives, say a temporary injury or even the aging process, we make necessary adjustments until new habits become comfortable and our new norm. I’m going to pick one of the challenging problems from the list of poverty, illiteracy, homelessness, violence, and injustice, and think about my current rote response and what small action I might take. I’ll see if I can follow through so that perhaps one day, that positive action will become one that I make without thinking.

Marilyn

Overheard conversations

When I got on the green line late Wednesday afternoon for the commute home, I found a comfortable spot to stand, holding onto a railing at the end of a row of four seats. As soon as the train moved, the woman sitting in the seat next to where I was standing started shaking her finger at a very nicely dressed older teenager close to the door and said, very loudly, “God knows you have to take care of yourself first!”

  

Now that got not only my attention, but also that of everyone who had gotten on at Ashland. We had obviously joined an ongoing conversation. I glanced around and saw that the commuters at our end of the car were all doing the ‘I-don’t-want-to-get-involved-in-what’s-going-on-around-me-but-isn’t-it-fascinating?’ behavior. We were all looking either straight ahead or down at electronic devices. One man put his sunglasses back on. I lost track of the book I was listening to because the story I had entered was much more interesting.

The young man, who was wearing several pieces of religious jewelry, began to respond to her self-centered tenet with, “Well, now, ma’am,” at which point she interrupted him with, “What do you mean by calling me ‘ma’am? I’m not your mother!”

“I’m just trying to show respect, ma’am,” he said, underscoring that he had, in fact, taken his training to heart. “And I was going to say that I think God wants us to think of our neighbors...” But by then we were at California and as the doors opened the conversation stopped. People exited and some entered the dialogue which resumed with a new declaration from her of, “God is your pimp!”

OK, that one was a conversation stopper. The teen took a step back and somehow, in a train car that was already fairly quiet, things got quieter. I held my breath. “Well, not in the sense you’re thinking about,” she said, but we were now at Kedzie and the doors opened. Several riders escaped and several joined us, ignorant of the stage they were now on.

The doors closed, the train pulled away from the platform, and “God is your pimp” was shouted again. “Yes,” she continued, “He’s out there promoting you, helping you to take care of yourself!”

A woman one seat away from the philosopher, protested, saying “I don’t like hearing God being called a pimp,” but our preacher retained her focus on the young man and asked if he went to church. When he responded in the affirmative, she wanted to know which one. With his answer he turned the question back on her and was quite surprised at her answer, for she named a large popular tabernacle. Again, the young man took a step back. “Really?” he said, “I know several people who are members, and I think they would not agree with what you have said.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she cried, “I know what I know to be true,” she pronounced as the doors opened at Conservatory. The woman who had protested got up to leave and as she passed the young man, she patted his shoulder.

Our ride resumed with an ‘I-know- what-I’m-talking-about-and-you-need-to-pay-attention-to-me’ monologue until the young man departed with a, “now you have a nice day, ma’am” at Cicero. She got off at Pulaski and there was an audible sigh of relief.

Now, many people might say it’s because of such a scenario they avoid the el. Sure, it was tense, but it wasn’t scary. Well, the theology being spewed was certainly bizarre, but nothing was threatening. And it was much more intriguing than the one-sided cellphone conversations one hears while walking down the street or waiting in line at Jewel.  It’s all part of being in a community, diverse in all ways, and, sometimes, going in the same direction.

Marilyn

The Sounds of Silence

Do you remember double features? At the drive-in? That was how I saw The Graduate and A Man and a Woman, so it was a night for music that helped define a generation. “People talking without speaking, people hearing without listening” was evident in student protests and marches.  “When hearts are passing in the night, in the lonely night” spoke to the complications of relationships. “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and tenement halls” screamed the inequities that needed attention then and still today remains within the sounds of silence.
 

There were years when the clock radio launched my day with music or news and the click of the remote turned off the TV indicating it was time to go to sleep. In between there was a cacophony. I’ve had relationships where silences were not comfortable so conversations had to continue as long as the relationship did. I’ve learned that some of the most important intimacy we can know comes from silence with those we love, how our connection echoes within the sounds of silence.

Over time I’ve intentionally incorporated more silence into my days. When I was writing my book I used a timer to mark segments of my day. I wrote for 45 minutes, in silence, and then enjoyed 15 minutes of noise and distraction before going back to the 45 minutes of thought and fingers at the keyboard. These days I’m as likely to I put ‘quiet’ on my to-do list as ‘library’ and even may even forget to turn on the music. I live across from the train tracks and the el and freight trains are 24/7. I was surprised at how quickly I adjusted to those sounds. Now hours go by and I haven’t heard them at all but what I have heard are the birds, the wind, the rain.  When I do notice a train, I’m reminded that it is just another part of creation and civilization and glad that they do disturb the sounds of silence.

How do you touch the sounds of silence?

Marilyn

She had to go...

…and I had to let her.” I found this quote from Gail Caldwell’s memoir on the loss of her dog poignant and sweet, and I knew that I would soon be in a similar situation. Millie, my feline companion of 17 years, had to go last Wednesday. And I had to let her. According to the vet’s chart she would have been 19 yesterday, which in people years is nearly 92. She’d had a good, long life.

With my first cat, Spiffy, I learned about feline leukemia during his short life of 5 years. His successor, Kimberly Katt, was diabetic for the last 10 of her 18 years, and required daily insulin. She was quite healthy and active until she had a seizure. Miss Millie had thyroid issues and it was senility and gastric problems that finally brought her down. When it comes to health, the animal world is not so different from our own.

While Spiff was a stalker, hunting for prey in the form of spiders and imaginary enemies, and Kimberly would thunder through the house as we played fetch, Millie was an engineer. Her favorite recreational activity was watching a string pulled under or through something. She could calculate where it would end up, and that’s where she would pounce. Her accuracy was un-catty. When it comes to skills, the animal world is not so different from our own.

All three of my cats have been affectionate and communicative. Spiff was ok as long as some part of him was touching some part of me, Kimberly would spoon next to me at night, but Millie was the most cuddly and verbal. In the morning she was anxious to tell me about her nighttime dreams and when I got home from work she had to inform me about the happenings of the day. Her meow is on my home voice message. When Millie was in need of special attention she would sit with her back paws on my lap and her head under my chin. Last Wednesday, as she told me it was her last day, we had our normal morning routine as she curled up with me on the couch while I meditated. Even in loving, the animal world is not so different from our own.

I picked Spiffy from a litter delivered by a colleagues’ well-loved pet and got him when he was newly weaned. I found Kimberly at a shelter when she was 6 months old, and was introduced to Millie by the staff at the Cat Practice who had taken her in as a young teen mom.  They thought she and I might make a good team. When it comes to creating a family, how we include an animal is not so different from how we add humans.

One blog last October gave tribute to things I have learned from Millie. It began by sharing that even when she miscalculated her jump, she would get right back up and try again. It ended with the fact that she would let me know when she wanted attention, that it is ok to ask to be noticed and acknowledged. I will end this blog with the fact that in our last months together she taught me to keep on living even as you prepare to die, and that we need to pay attention to know when it is time to let go. Even in death, the animal world is not so different from our own.

So, to all of our furry, 4-legged, winged, gilled, scaly, and other animal companions who had to go, thank you for the joy, laughter, love, and trust that you taught and shared. Now go play nice with one another, and Millie, catch Spiffy and Kimberly up on all the news from down here.

Marilyn